Serial Killer
by deanambooty
Summary: A Bucky Barnes story that takes place after CA: TWS.
1. Tabula Rasa

**Serial Killer**

feat: Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier

tc: Serial Killer by Lana Del Rey

_He looked down at his lap in an attempt to avoid her emerald green stare. Bucky didn't want to argue with her. Especially not over this. She was the only thing that he knew. An escape from the life he couldn't remember, and the new life that he was trying desperately to forget. If he lost her, there'd be no coming back from that._

_She stood still, waiting for a response, but wasn't going to get one. Anything that he said at this point wouldn't be what she wanted to hear. They both knew that. He combed through his incomplete mind, searching for an answer. There wasn't one. So instead of speaking, he unzipped his jacket and pulled the left sleeve from his bionic arm. If trust was what she wanted, this was his way of giving it to her._

* * *

There was nothing left for James Barnes.

He started out as a blank slate. An empty page that someone else was writing on. He didn't know any better, his life as the Winter Soldier was all that he knew. The fight, the torture, the kill. That was over now. He was no longer an assassin. He was James Buchanan Barnes; a dead symbol of what it was to be an American war hero. He was a nobody. He had nothing.

There was nothing left.

What would he do now? Avenge the life that was stolen from him? The life that he was supposed to die for. He was already in so much pain. If gaining access to that life and the memories that it holds would be this painful, he wanted nothing to do with it. Besides, even if he wanted to, he didn't know how. He didn't know anything outside of an undercover HYDRA facility and a cryo-freeze tank, unless someone was giving him orders. But there wasn't anyone; just him and the free will that he had been separated from for so long. He didn't know what to do with himself.

At the moment, he didn't see any problem fading away into the world as James. Not Bucky, not Buck, or Sergeant Barnes. Just James. Someone that no one would miss, because he was already dead.

But there was one problem; he knew him. And it was eating him alive. He couldn't just disappear when his best friend knew that he out there somewhere. If James knew anything, it was that Steve Rogers was with him 'til the end of the line. He would come after him. Find him. Try to bring him back in some sort of heroic way. Classic fairy tale ending of two friends reuniting after every obstacle being thrown at them.

Did he want that, though?

Half of him wanted to run. The other half invited him to stay.

He didn't know what he wanted.

The rim of his baseball cap was low, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. His head was throbbing. He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked the streets of downtown D.C, trying to keep to himself throughout the busy sidewalks. Every now and again he would accidentally bump into someone, mumble he was sorry, and keep going. But no one paid attention to him, they were all too busy with their coffee cups and their mobile phones; self absorbed and ignorant.

He was invisible. He was a ghost.

And he realized that in this world, that's how he wanted to stay.


	2. Hideaway

He couldn't keep walking.

At this rate, his legs would fall off before he even got to where he was going. Where that was, he still wasn't sure. North seemed to be his direction so far. He had to get out of Washington. Too many S.H.I.E.L.D agents, too many HYDRA spies.

And Steve. He'd be lying if he said that Captain America wasn't the main thing he was running from. He could fight off anyone else, but the star-spangled patriot was a weakness for him. And weakness was a feeling inside of him that he wanted to squash.

After some five hours of walking, James came across a sign; _Welcome to Beltsville! _It read in bold, blue lettering. Hanging underneath was a piece of paper that listed off all of the community events that were to be held this upcoming weekend. He rolled his eyes and almost laughed. _Garden Club? PG Parent's Club? _It was late, he was exhausted, and his headache still hadn't gone away. Beltsville, Maryland would do for the night.

He could hear his stomach rumbling and knew that he had to find something to eat. Yet, he had no money. No HYDRA officer to bring him a stale sandwich and a glass of water. He had the clothes on his back, a loaded handgun, and a knife. "_I could kill my food",_ he thought to himself. It wasn't like he didn't know how to hunt. Just then he saw a squirrel scurry up a tree. "_I'm not a savage"._

Wasn't he, though?

A flash of memory struck him. Gunfire ringing in his brain. Explosives. He destroyed much of Washington. Many of his stray bullets killed innocent civilians. "_You're my mission"._ He shook his head, trying to repress the memories that continued to flood his mind; filling in the holes. It infuriated him. This wasn't supposed to happen. This should be impossible. Superheroes, and bionic arms, and coming back to life...

Ahead on the corner there was a gas station; a 7-11.

There was an older man behind the counter, reading a dirty magazine. He didn't even acknowledge the young man walk into the store. James kept his hat pulled low, hands still stuffed in his pockets. He picked up a bag of Lays and slid them in his jacket, only taking his eyes off of the man for a second to make sure it didn't look too obvious. When he looked back up, the man was staring right at him.

"Excuse me, son." The man said as he came around the counter. "What's that you got in your jacket?" The former assassin sighed and pulled the bag of chips from his person, setting them back on the shelf. The old man smirked, and before he could say another word, James Barnes put a bullet in the man's knee. The cashier cried out in pain as his blood poured on to the tile floor.

Barnes rolled his eyes. He walked around the counter, being careful not to step in the man's blood, and retrieved a couple of plastic bags. He could grab more, and it would be much easier for him to carry this way. As quickly as he could, he filled the bags with crackers, chips, Tylenol, and Coca-cola. The brim on his hat was still pulled low, and he kept his back to the cameras in the corner.

On his way out, he stood over the crying man. There was something about his agony that James still thrived on. The corner's of his lips turned slightly upwards into a grin as he choked the rest of the life out of the man with his boot.

"_Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?" Bucky asked as he looked down the steep zip-line._

"_Yeah, and I threw up?" Steve asked in return._

"_This isn't payback, is it?"_

_Rogers smiled. "Now why would I so that?"_

James was suddenly unaware of where he was. Memories continued to fill his mind, like sand in an empty space. He looked around the store, piecing it together, and remembering the events that lead him there. Then he looked down as he still stood with his foot on an old man's throat. There was blood everywhere, and the man was lifeless on the floor. He did this. Bile rose from his stomach and he tried to swallow it back down. _I am a savage, _he thought to himself.

He then realized that he was standing directly in the middle of a crime scene. His heartbeat quickened. He began to panic. With his plastic bags in hand, he bolted through the glass doors, shattering one with his prosthetic. _Slow down, _James reminded himself. He didn't need anyone seeing a hooded man running away from the store where a clerk had just been shot and smothered.

He passed a deserted motel. _Perfect, _he thought. He chose the room farthest away from the office, and broke the door handle off easily. It smelled like cheap detergent and TV dinners. His stomach churned, and he began to sweat. James looked around quickly and spotted a small trash can. He didn't think twice before grabbing it and emptying into it what little he had in his stomach. His eyes watered as he heaved. Head pounding. He wiped his mouth when he was done, tied up the trash bag, and made his way into the tiny bathroom. The full moon reflected enough light through the window so that he could see his reflection.

Tired. Dirty. Disgusting. _Murderer._

"Shut up!" He shouted at himself and threw a left punch at the glass. His fist collided with the mirror and sent reflective shards flying in all different directions. He stood there staring at the place on the wall, breathing heavily and expecting to see his grimey self again, but instead saw nothing.

He wanted so desperately to give up, but something inside of him urged him to keep going. He was his own worst enemy, yet his own cheerleader. Tearing himself down and building himself back up. He had been through many wars, but none as bad as the one that was raging inside of his mind.

A sigh escaped his cracked lips as he laid back on the bed. He closed his eyes, wanting nothing but sleep, and for his intense headache to go away. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the images of all the things that he had done. He saw the innocent civilians that had died in the crossfire in Washington, he saw the dead cashier, and above all, he saw his metal fist colliding with the face of Steve Rogers.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. Connie

James remembered train jumping when he was a teenager. It was something that he did to make himself look cool in front of the more popular kids. He'd always take Steve with him, but the tiny kid would never even think of trying to hop on a moving train. James did though, and it was exhilarating to him. Steve would be watching in awe on the sidelines, and there was a small girl who would be screaming for him to be careful.

He laid on the stiff motel bed with his right arm behind his head. As he stared at the water stained ceiling, he wasn't sure if he missed that memory, or if he was repulsed at the thought of it. _Repulsed._

It was early, but the sun was out. He had gotten about an hour and a half of sleep, it wasn't enough, and his eyes were still heavy. He sat up, deciding to get an early start, and began looking around the room for things that he could use in the future. As he did so, he flicked on the television. _Anything but news, anything but news. _He flipped through a few channels and was thankful to find The Three Stooges.

There was a backpack in the closet, seemingly left behind by another tenant. He shoved what food he had left and his last bottle of Coke into the pockets, along with the mini shampoo and bar of soap, and towel that the motel offered. Lastly, he packed away his handgun, but only after making sure that the safety was on. He hoped that there wouldn't be another reason for him to use it.

Just then, he heard a voice outside of his door. He ducked for cover and waited for whoever it was to come through. Knife in hand, he was ready. The door creaked open to reveal a woman in a white dress and apron. She gasped as she walked deeper into the room. James could have ducked out of the room without her seeing him, but he waited.

He _wanted_ her to notice him crouched in the corner.

As she surveyed the bathroom, the broken glass, and the hole in the wall, James stood up from where he was and gently shut the door. She jolted her head up and was filled with fear. To see her so frightened filled Barnes with a revolting sense of glee.

"Please, you can have whatever you want. Please don't hurt me." She begged.

His eyes squinted at her plea, and then he grinned. He slid his knife down into his pocket, and the woman sighed in relief. Without further hesitation, Barnes lunged forward and snapped the woman's neck. Her limp body fell to his feet.

_"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. I need you to do it one more time."_

There was a ringing in James' ears. His head began to pound again as more memories of the Winter Soldier crowded his mind.

_"Wipe him, and start over."_

He dropped to his knees next to the woman's dead body. "I'm so sorry." He cried. He shook and trembled next to his innocent victim, tears streaming from his eyes. "I'm so sorry!" Even though he knew that he wasn't worthy of forgiveness, he begged for it anyways.

James knew that he couldn't keep on like this. There was something seriously wrong with him and he couldn't control it. He was unstable; a flickering light switch that teetered between the innocent Bucky Barnes and the ruthless HYDRA weapon, who killed for a living. He released his grip on the woman's apron and dried his eyes. He had to clean up his own mess. He couldn't travel up the East Coast leaving a trail of bodies behind him. That would be a dead giveaway to anyone who was looking for him.

And he knew they were looking for him.

He made the bed, collected his things, and it seemed as if he was never there at all. _She could have had an accident in the bathroom, _he reassured himself. _That's believable. _He tossed his things out the back window, and looked back at the woman one more time before running off into the cool Maryland air.

In the distance he heard a train. Suddenly he was hopeful. It'd be nice to not have to walk for hours after not getting any sleep, and murder takes a lot out of you. He ran as fast as he could, hoping to catch up with it. When he arrived at the tracks, he noticed the boxcars were headed North. James slung his backpack over both of his shoulders and ran with the train before jumping on.

He was actually having fun. A genuine smile was stretched across his washed out face and he sat on top of the railcar. _I wish Steve could be here,_ he thought for half of a second before dismissing the thought completely. Instead he was filled with regret and shame. He shouldn't be allowed to feel happy. His smile disappeared.

_"You know there's three and a half million women here," Bucky said as he and Steve strided through the busy New York streets._

_"Yeah, well I'd settle for just one." His best friend replied with his hands stuffed in his pockets. _

_"Good thing I took care of that!" Bucky waved off into the distance at two young girls. One of them yelled back and he smiled wide. _

_A confused look washed over Steve's face as he looked at the women and back to his friend. "What'd you tell her about me?"_

_Bucky just continued to smile. "Only the good stuff."_

James dropped his head, exhaling sharply and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He wondered if his pain would ever go away. The pills didn't feel good sliding down his dry throat and he gagged at the taste. He was dehydrated and craving a real meal. He had no idea what time it was, or where he was.

_"Look, I know you don't think I can do this…" Bucky looked down at his best friend. It wasn't that he didn't think that he could do it. Because, if anyone believed in Steven Rogers, it was Bucky. It was just that Bucky felt the overwhelming need to protect him, and if anything ever happened to him, he wouldn't be able to live with himself._

_"This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war."_

His memories were returning excessively. Memories of Indiana, Rebecca, when his parents died, his aunt and uncle, memories from the war. He felt like he was going to implode. James knew that he was supposed to love these people, but the feeling of love was a memory that he just hadn't gotten back yet.

_"Bucky!" One of the young women yelled over to him and waved._

_She looked stunning. There was no denying it. He had been trying to win Connie Carr's heart for the longest time, and she had finally agreed to go out on a date with him. Granted, it was the night before he would leave for London, but he'd make the most of it. _

_"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" He asked. _

_She blushed immediately and shook her head. "I don't think you've ever told me that!" He knew it wasn't true. He had told her nearly every damn day. _

_Bucky swooped down and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Well, Ms. Connie Carr you are absolutely beautiful."_

The train barreled down the tracks. James drowned out the loud clamoring of the iron wheels and tried to focus on his memories. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he had reached his destination.

The New York City skyline was beautiful, even at midday.

He jumped from the speeding train with all the hope in the world that this city wouldn't be a dead end. And he figured that with so many people, he would blend in a little better than in the capital of the United States, where so many people had seen his face; whether it be because he was shooting at them, or on the news.

There was something about New York that he missed. It was true that the city had changed much from the way that he remembered it, but it was still bustling and alive. Being in New York was like being in a completely different world.

As he made his way through the sea of people, Bucky passed an old bakery that had been in business since he first arrived in the city. He and Steve used to have breakfast there every now and again. He stopped for a second to admire the fact that the building was still here after all these years.

His sudden stop caused the young woman behind him to walk straight into his back, sending him a few steps forward and knocking her a few steps backwards. He saw red for a few moments and turned around to snap at the girl, "could you watch where you're go- Connie?"

It couldn't be her. It was impossible. He blinked a few times, setting his focus on the young woman in front of him.

"What? No. Sorry." She said, brushing past him and continuing on her path.

It wasn't her.

James was at a loss for words. His mind had, once again, gone completely blank. For a split second he thought he saw the woman that he once loved. And for a split second he remembered what it felt like.


	4. Predator Prey

For the next five days, James searched New York city for the woman that he had seen outside the bakery that afternoon. He was starting to believe that this was his breaking point; he was going mad. He knew that she wasn't the woman that he had spent years pining over. The woman whose face he could not get out of his mind. But he still searched for her everywhere.

At the same time each day, James passed by the bakery, hoping that maybe she would be there. She wasn't. He looked through every window that he passed. He studied every petite, brunette woman that he passed by closely to make sure that he didn't miss her. He did this every single day, and there wasn't a trace of her.

_This isn't Shelbyville,_ he hissed at himself. _This is New York. There are nearly nine million people in this city, alone. I'm looking for a needle is a damn haystack._

He had been living in and out of motels since he had arrived, making sure to leave before the sun came up each day so that he wasn't seen. The civil war between Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier was an exhausting one. And curbing the craving to murder the maid was difficult. He could feel it; the itch that he couldn't scratch. The assassin trying to find his way back out into the world.

It was an early Tuesday morning. He sat on the bed with a towel wrapped around his lower half, and stared into the mirror across from him. His hair wet and slicked back, bags under his eyes, awkwardly trimmed facial hair. For once he wasn't disgusted with himself. He felt sorry for himself. He looked down at the jagged scars on his left shoulder and sighed.

_I deserve to be alone. Better yet, dead._

James packed up his things, quickly, and left the dingy motel room. As he stepped out of the door, he stumbled on a newspaper that had been sat by the threshold. He picked it up and stuffed it in his bag before slinking off around the corner.

Mornings in New York were insane. Everyone was on their way to work, traffic was stopped, horns blaring. He was used to this. But, there was no segregation. A thousand people of all different races walked side by side. It awed James that the world had come so far. He just wished he could've _been there_ for all of it.

He took a seat outside of a cafe that was across the street from the old bakery. A tall, blonde woman in a green apron was at his side only a moment later. "Hi, is there anything I can get for you?"

James glanced up from the newspaper he was pretending to read and looked at her. She smiled at him. "Uh," he croaked. His voice was still very hoarse. He hadn't spoken to anyone in nearly two weeks. "I'll just have a water." _You should ask before if water is still free before you order it,_ he scolded. But he wasn't going to embarrass himself and ask if something as simple as water in a cup was free. Bottled water wasn't free, he knew that much.

The woman returned promptly with a cup of ice water and a muffin. "Here, try our new Lemon Glaze muffins, it's on the house." She flashed a bright smile at him and disappeared back inside.

"Uh, thanks." He said to no one. No doubt she felt sorry for him. He almost didn't want to eat the muffin out of spite; show her that he didn't need her pity, nor want it. But his stomach rumbled loudly, and his mouth watered as the glazed dripped off the hot treat. It was delicious, and he thought momentarily about destroying the entire cafe for more. _It would be worth it, _he thought.

He brushed the crumbs from his lap and hands and went back to "reading" his newspaper. "_THE NATION'S CAPITAL DESTROYED", _the headline read. James looked up momentarily and his eyes instantly connected with her.

There she was, effortlessly gliding down the busy street as if she was the only one there. His heart raced. This was the moment he had been waiting on for weeks. He had finally found her. He jumped up from the table and made his way across the street. She was a good distance in front of him, talking into her mobile device, and talking with her hands.

He wondered who she was talking to. _Husband, _he thought immediately. No, she wasn't wearing a ring. He quickened his pace, getting closer to her, trying to listen in on what she was saying.

"Yes, I'll be there tonight, I promise." She said. "I know that you'll be disappointed if I don't show up, that's why I promised I would be there! But I'm getting on the subway right now, so I have to go! Yes, I'll be there. Okay, I'll see you later. I love you, too. Bye."

_The train whistled for it's last passengers to board. Bucky was one of them, stalling until the absolute last minute. He held Connie in his arms for what he hoped wasn't the last time. "After I've won the war, I'm going to marry you, Connie Carr." _

_He removed his hat and ducked down, connecting with her lips. "I'll be waiting." She said, with her eyes still closed. "I love you."_

James followed her down the stairwell into the underground tunnels, keeping a safe distance. She was easy to spot through the crowd in her cerulean blue blazer, and large red leather bag on her shoulder. He was so busy watching her that he didn't notice he had arrived at the turnstile. He had no subway pass, no money. He looked around frantically for a moment as the woman gradually became farther from him. He gripped the turnstile with his arm and forced it to move, allowing him to go through.

He barely made out that she was getting on the subway train. A moment later and he would've completely lost her. James took a seat at the back of the car; hat pulled low, collar up. Newspaper hiding his face. She was reading a fashion magazine, and smiling at something on the page. She looked so much like Connie; full cheeks, big round eyes, adorable button nose.

The subway came to a stop, and he realized that they were now in Brooklyn, the place where he grew up. The woman rose from her seat and exited the train, making her way through the cramped tunnel. James hadn't been in Brooklyn since the morning he left for England.

He remembered the parties, the jazz, helping Steve get out of every fight he managed to get himself into.

"_I had him on the ropes," Steve would always say._

A few blocks away, the woman had arrived at her destination; a middle school. _She must be a teacher, _He thought. She disappeared in the building, leaving James out on the sidewalk. There was a park bench a few yards away across the street. _What are you going to do? Stalk her? Sitting outside of a middle school? _He agreed with himself. This wasn't the place to be, but he couldn't leave. What if she came out? What if she left and he didn't know where she went? What would he do then?

He needed something to do. He couldn't just sit on his hands in a run down motel room, waiting for the magnificent Captain America to find him. He needed a mission; something to occupy his time so that he wasn't so focused on the fact that he could feel his heart beat in his head… Or killing.

After what seemed like days, the school doors had burst open, and children of all sizes were filling the streets.

"_Bucky!" A young girl cried. _

_The boy slumped his shoulders and turned around. He was already halfway across the street. Trying to catch up with his more popular friends. "What is it, Rebecca?" He was annoyed. _

_She held her hand out, "Will you hold my hand. I'm scared."_

"_You don't need to be scared, Becky. See, it's easy, watch." Bucky pulled the little girl in tow as he stepped up to the sidewalk. "Just make sure you look both ways both ways before you go across." _

His memories were interrupted by an overweight woman plopping down on the bench next to him. She was trying to hold her tiny cell phone in between her shoulder and ear, while rummaging through her tote bag. She was screaming into the phone; grating into her husband who would be home late. James cleared his throat in an attempt to remind the woman that he was sitting right there. It didn't work. She continued her rant.

His head was pounding. Car horns were blaring. Kids were squealing.

"_And I need you to do it one more time…" _

He could hear the voice of Alexander Pearce echoing through his rattled brain and it only egged him on. His mechanical arm clicked into place and he balled his fist as tightly as he could, trying to contain himself. It was taking everything he had to keep from shoving this woman's phone down her throat.

"_One more time…"_

Just then, two small boys came running toward the bench. The woman clicked her phone shut, stood up, and ushered the children to the car. James sighed in relief, but he could feel the urge underneath his calm facade.

Two hours later, after the school busses had left, and all of the children were at home doing their homework and eating dinner, the front doors of the school had opened again. A group of women strolled out, laughing and carrying on about the day they had. He pulled the brim of his hat even lower and hunched his shoulders together. At best, he'd look like a homeless man. The women passed right by him, all heading for their cars in the parking lot.

One women in particular wasn't headed that way. Instead she turned the opposite way, headed back towards the subway. He waited until she got far enough ahead to begin following her once more. The streets weren't as crowded as they were that morning, he had to be more careful. In 1942 Brooklyn wasn't a safe place for a woman to be walking around at night by herself. James could only imagine what it must be like now.

He could hear her phone ringing in the distance and he hurried his stride. "Hello?" She asked. "I'm on my way now! I had papers to grade! What's the address again, I want to make sure I have it right. Okay, 15th Street, Bernstein Pavillion. Got it. I'll be there soon."

As they continued to walk down an almost empty street, James noticed three men slump from the shadows and begin following the young woman. She hadn't noticed yet. They were being quiet as they pursued their prey. He could hear them whispering, and picked up pieces of their plan.

Something inside of James snapped. "Hey," he called out to the three men. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" They smiled, thinking that James would be no match for them. One against three. Classic handicap match. Two of the men jumped on him. Holding him back so the bigger of the three could take his turn with James. The ruthless murderer inside him was waiting, letting the big man take a few blows to his stomach. "Is that all you got?" He hissed.

The woman he had been following had turned around now, appalled at the fight that had broken out behind her, and then ran off. That was what he wanted. He didn't want her seeing what he was about to do. As soon as she was out of sight, the assassin bursted through the seams of James Barnes. He grabbed ahold of the large man's throat with his metal hand, crushing his trachea. The other two men were shocked, and turned to run immediately.

But he was not going to let them go.

He ran after them, dropping the large, now dead man on the concrete. He tackled one of them, punching him a few times before breaking his neck. The last one just stood there, fumbling with the gun that he didn't know how to use. It probably wasn't even loaded. He smiled. Pulling out his own handgun.

"Позвольте мне учить вас" He said before pulling the trigger.

The man fell backwards, gripping his chest where he had been shot. The Soldier was proud of himself. Thrilled at the blood pumping out of the man, as he watched him fight for air.

The sirens in the distance had snapped James back to reality. He picked up the man's gun and bolted off through an alleyway. He had no time to think about regret, or if killing those three men was wrong. For once he seemed to be on the same page with himself, in any moment this area would be crawling with cops, and he needed to get the hell out of there.

There was no sign of her. She was long gone. He had no idea where he was headed, but at least he had an address.


	5. MDSG: Newcomers

He had no idea what he was expecting when he arrived at the Berkshire Pavilion, but it certainly wasn't this. A large banner hung on the wall over the reception desk, it was glittery and bright, and read, "_MOOD DISORDER SUPPORT GROUP, WELCOME NEWCOMERS!"_

The lady at the desk was on the phone, she smiled at him, motioning for him to sign the clipboard in front of her. He approached cautiously, debating on whether or not her should stay here or forget the woman entirely and leave. He reached his hand out toward the pen, and noticed the dried blood from the man he had killed just shortly before.

"Uh, restroom?" He asked, and the woman pointed for him to go around the corner. James quickly washed the blood from his hand. He caught a glimpse at himself. He looked terrible.

When he returned to the desk, the woman was no longer on the phone. "Hello! Sorry about that, no one can ever find this place." She spoke in a heavy Southern accent.

"It's not that hard." He replied. He scribbled a name down, _Tommy D, _after hearing the song "All The Things You Are" on the overhead speakers.

The woman nodded in agreement. "Well, you're going to take a right down this hallway and it's the first door on the right, sweetheart. You're just in time too, it hasn't started yet, so go right ahead in and find yourself a seat." She smiled big.

James turned around, heading in the direction the woman gave him. Inside the room was a gathering of people, there weren't many, but enough to make him realize that this was a mistake. He skulked to the very back row of chairs and took a seat. Looking around, he saw that the woman he was looking for wasn't even here.

He panicked.

"Sorry I'm late! But I brought cupcakes!" James sighed at the sound of her voice, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor, and the sight of her smiling. "I had to swing by my apartment and pick them up. If I had taken them to the school, a bunch of sixth graders would've devoured them!" She sat the box of treats on one of the tables and took off her jacket. "It's been kind of a crazy day, so bear with me."

He couldn't help but be mesmerized by her.

"Okay!" She took a deep breath and looked up at the group. "My name is Anne Irving, but just Anne is fine. This is a support group for all different types of mood disorder. We cover Bipolar Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Depression, ADHD, Schizophrenia, and Anxiety and Panic Disorders. This isn't the group for substance induced mood disorders, but you're welcome to stay. I'm certainly not going to kick you out." She paused, waiting in case someone wanted to leave. "Alrighty, let's just start off with introductions, shall we?"

Everyone went around the room, stood up, introduced themselves and stated what kind of mood disorder they had. Would it be acceptable for him to say "_My name is James Barnes, my mood disorder is I was a war hero, and then I was captured, experimented on, and fell to my "death" while my "best friend" did nothing to save me. But! I didn't really die, instead I was brutally injured, experimented on some more, had my memories wiped, and was trained to be a master assassin credited with over three dozen… eh, make that four dozen kills. Now my memories are flooding back to me, and I can't control my urge to murder everyone in my line of sight."_

Probably not.

"Hey, you okay back there?" She asked him.

He snapped back to reality. It was his turn. He slowly stood up, uncomfortable with everyone's attention being on him. He didn't look away from her, though. He was caught dead in her stare. "Uh, my name is uh… James, uh… Rogers? I uh… I'm… angry?" He sat down quickly, humiliated.

She smiled, though. And it seemed to make everything okay again. "Alright Mr. James Rogers which is obviously a fake name but I'm not going to ask any questions. How do you feel today? Were you angry today?"

"I was."

"What made you angry?"

Why was she singling him out? She didn't ask anyone else these questions. Was she on to him? Did she know who he was? What if she was an undercover HYDRA agent?

"There were some punks hassling this woman, or… they were about to. It made me angry." He replied. His palm was sweating. He was nervous. What if this was a trap? What if they found him?

"So what did you do about it?"

_Killed them. Crushed their throats, broke their necks, watched the bloo- _"Nothing." He replied, "I did nothing."

She seemed disappointed in his answer. She should've been.

"Would anyone else like to share?" She asked the group.

The meeting was too long. Hearing about how sad and angry and lonely everyone else was only made James feel worse than he already did. After the meeting, he hung around, waiting for everyone to leave so that he could find a moment to speak with the girl alone, even though he hadn't a clue what to say.

"Cupcake?" She asked him. There were only two left in the box, and they were the only two in the room. "They're red velvet."

He took one without saying anything.

"So, Mr. Rogers…" She said breaking the awkward silence.

"James."

"James, sorry." She looked up at him, really getting a good look this time, past the baseball cap and rough exterior. She furrowed her brow, "Have we met?"

He was panicking again. "I have to go." He turned quickly and left as fast as he could, leaving her in a state of confusion.

The cool April air was refreshing. He inhaled deeply, settling his nerves, and pulling himself back together. Why was he so nervous? It's not like he was going to take her dancing, or courting, or marry her. He'd had one conversation with her. If you can even call it that.

He didn't know how to talk to women. He barely knew how to talk. James Barnes was like a baby, thrown into the worst part of the world, and having to learn everything over again. If this was 1942, he'd have no problem waltzing right up to her, draping his arms around her, and sweeping her right off of her feet.

But it wasn't 1942. It was seventy-two years into the future.

He heard the door click open, and dashed around the corner.

"See you next week, Annie." The woman with the Southern drawl called out.

"See you, Pats." Anne replied. She walked right past him, unaware that he had been and was still watching her.

Her apartment was only six blocks away. Fourth floor, west side, you could see perfectly in her bedroom from the rooftop of the building next to it. He knew it was wrong, but somehow being near her, and seeing her made his headaches go away. He wasn't worried about anything.

He was safe here, for the moment. No one was looking for him yet. As far as he knew, everyone thought he died on that helicarrier. It wouldn't be the first time they had gotten that wrong. He could start a life here, get a job, grow a beard. One in eight million people in New York City.

He liked the sound of it.


	6. Sunday Bloody Sunday

The next week flew by.

James was following Anne everywhere she went; the grocery store, work, the volunteer center, friend's houses, bars. He had learned so much about her, like how she only shopped Whole Foods, that she liked to eat lunch outside, the men and women at the support groups adored her, her best friend's name was Chelsea, and her favorite drink was called a "Coconut in Paradise".

Every morning, he'd take his usual place on the rooftop over-looking her bedroom. He wanted so badly to be inside of the tiny room, watching her get ready for the day ahead. But this would have to do, for now.

It was Easter Sunday. A beautiful day in the city. Anne got up, greeted the day, and began rummaging through her closet for something to wear. He hoped it would be the pretty pink dress that she was wearing the first time he had ever laid eyes on her.

Instead she decided to wear all black. She looked in the mirror one more time before grabbing her keys off of her dresser. There was a sadness in her eyes. Something wasn't quite right. A few moments later, she walked out on to the streets and began making her way through the buzz of the morning. She stopped at a florist on the corner, and picked up three roses; two red, one yellow.

It was beginning to come together for James; they were headed to a graveyard.

He wondered if he should be stalking her at a time like this. He came to a stop for a moment. It didn't feel right, but then again, stalking her in general didn't feel right. There was something about the girl that just satisfied James and the murderous assassin too; a calm in the endless storm. He couldn't put his finger on it.

Something inside of him pushed him to continue on before he lost her in the growing sea of people.

Inside the graveyard, he ducked and hid behind gravestones to keep himself out of sight, until she came to a group headstones next to a tree. He could see her frowning, and wanted nothing more than to comfort her.

"I miss you," She said. The sound nearly drowned out by tears. "I miss you so much." She sat down at the graves and began telling them about how her life had been as if she was having a normal conversation with an old group of friends. "I feel like I'm finally going in the direction I've been wanting to go all along. I just wish you were here to see it." She was smiling now. "Everything is perfect. I'm helping people like I've always wanted."

She paused for a moment.

"No, gramma, I'm not married." She began to laugh. "I doubt I'll be married anytime soon. My life's just too busy for that nonsense. As soon as I help cure depression, then I'll get married."

Anne stood up, dusting off the twigs and grass that had stuck to her stockings. "I love you gramma," She said as she placed the yellow rose on the first headstone. "And you grandpa, and you mama. I miss you so much." She placed the roses down, and turned to leave, wiping tears from her eyes.

This time, James did not follow her. Instead he waited for her to leave, giving her the privacy that she deserved on this sad day. He walked over to the head stones.

"_In Memory Of_

_Jane Callie Irving_

_Beloved Mother and Daughter_

_October 1, 1953 - June 21, 1991"_

"_In Memory Of_

_Calvin Dale Irving_

_Soldier, Husband, Father_

_December 14, 1916 - February 10, 1998"_

James read the name on the tomb stone over and over again. _Calvin Dale Irving, _he thought. the name sounded so familiar to him. _Cal Irving, Cal Irving, Cal Irving… _James had gone to school with Cal. He was a year older, bigger, pushed Bucky around a little bit. They weren't friends. Even when they were in the service, they were constantly fighting. James believed that it was because Cal was jealous of his relationship with Connie.

He browsed over the last headstone, one word catching his attention. His chest tightened, and he couldn't breathe.

"_In Memory Of_

_Connie Anne Carr-Irving_

_Beloved Wife, Mother, and Grandmother_

_Forever in our hearts_

_June 7, 1919 - April 20, 2013"_

James wandered through the bustling streets of New York with no particular destination in mind. He just walked. His mind was blank, it was throbbing, and the heaviest kind of sadness loomed over him like a thick fog.

Connie passed away one year ago. She was Anne's grandmother. It was all too much.

"James?" He knew that voice. He had come to memorize it well over the past few weeks. "Hey James!"

He turned around and saw Anne.

"Where 'ya headed?" She didn't seem sad anymore. Yet, she didn't seem like the kind of person who would let something ruin their day. "You okay?"

He hadn't answered her once, he didn't know what to say. He just shrugged.

"I was about to go grab lunch, you uh… you want to join me?"

Maybe it was because this was Easter Sunday and she was feeling nice. Maybe it was because she actually was nice. Maybe it was because she saw the dull, sad look in his eyes. The same look that she had seen this morning in the mirror. James didn't know, but he nodded and followed her to a nearby pizza place.

"How have you been?" She asked when they sat down inside.

"Um… fine." He replied.

"Hey," she reached out and placed her hand over his. "You can talk to me."

She was being genuine. She had that same pleading look in her eyes that Steve always had. That look that said "You can trust me with anything" or "I'm honestly the nicest person in the world".

He sighed. "I just found out that someone close to me passed away."

"I'm so sorry to hear that." And she really was. "I know how you feel. I've lost many people in my life. Some say it gets easier, but from my experience it doesn't. That sadness you feel right now, you will feel it everyday for the rest of your life. Sometimes it will be heavy, and other times you'll barely notice it. But it's always going to be there. Like a scar. A constant reminder."

He didn't say anything.

"That was really depressing." She blurted. "I'm sorry.

"No, it's the truth. I understand that."

The silences in between was awkward.

"How do you get it go away? What helps you?" He asked her.

She was surprised. "Well, I fill my time with people I care about. Like my students! Or my friends! And the guys down at the support group! I do things that make me happy. I help people. Helping people get rid of their pain, helps me get rid of mine. It's a win/win."

"Can you help me?" At first he kicked himself for saying that out loud, but when she smiled, he realized that he had said the right thing.

"I would love to help you, James." She replied in the softest voice.

James caught a glimpse of the newspaper Anne had folded in her bag. "Could I see that?" He asked, pointing at it.

She handed him the newspaper and he unfolded it. The big, bold headline screamed at him: "_TWO MEN DEAD, ONE IN COMA AFTER SHOOTING IN BROOKLYN."_

A picture of the three men adjourned the page and it was undoubtable that these were the three men James had run into the other night. One of them was still alive. _Barely,_ The Winter Soldier thought. If he woke up, He would surely remember the face of the man who shot him twice in the chest, and murdered his friends.

They would find him.

He threw the newspaper down on the table and ran out of the restaurant, ignoring the calls of the young woman, leaving her confused once again.


End file.
